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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698723">Heart Like Yours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuyOfShy/pseuds/GuyOfShy'>GuyOfShy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Locked Tomb fics [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Discord: The People's Tomb (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of suicidal thoughts is very brief if you squint, Suicidal Thoughts, The People's Tomb Fic Jam: Scream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:26:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698723</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuyOfShy/pseuds/GuyOfShy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrow has thoughts and fears that bleed her. She would let herself hemorrhage to death if she did not have someone to live for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Locked Tomb fics [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heart Like Yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Living with Harrow as her girlfriend - wife, of Gideon’s own opinion - cavalier - though, not a single one of those were officially ordained, even her title as cavalier primary.</p><p>Living with Harrowhark allowed Gideon under the veil. Under the ashen curtain. Under the gray, stony drillshaft dirt of Drearburh and through its wilted tangle of roots, under the tacky face paint, under all the billowing, black robes and myriad of bones and cartilage, all to see her necromancer for what she truly was: a complete and utter nervous fuck-up wreck.</p><p>At first it was funny, in an adorable kind of way. Well, it still was sometimes. But it was more tragic than anything, quite as cruel a thing as Gideon could imagine.</p><p>Harrow could hardly hold anything straight in her wiry fingers, even her glasses of water as she carefully raised them to her flaky, blood-crusted lips. She gnawed those on the reg, as she did her nails. Though Gideon realized that Harrow’s shaky hands were also a direct result of just how frail her wrists were. She precariously walked the precipice of malnourishment, devoted to her clinically mild diet despite Gideon’s efforts to introduce new life to her insipid taste buds.</p><p>Gideon had trained her own touch to be ginger. The way that Harrow’s body jerked when Gideon clapped a hand on her shoulder tore at both of their hearts. Gideon learned slowness, to be careful for her necromancer, who upon recognizing her attempts to be gentle glared at her as if to say, ‘Don’t patronize me.’ And then that glare would soften, her brows would crumple and give, and sometimes she would purse her lips if she did not feel like letting Gideon watch them quiver.</p><p>Just about every other day Harrow awoke with blood-stained teeth and a horrendous gash in her tongue from where she bit down on it in her sleep. She never woke from this pain, nor seemed to acknowledge it with anything more than mild vexation, and never acknowledged Gideon’s immediate concern with anything more than a reticent, “Go back to sleep, Griddle.”</p><p>And just about every other night, Harrow awoke screaming into the dark, or trembling severely like a localized earthquake in Gideon’s arms. Crying, most of these times, her breaths coming in shudders, her sobs as sharp inhales. Gideon thought it cruel for Harrow and cruel for herself because she was lost on how to comfort her. All she could do was hold her. Kiss her. Brush her hair behind her ear, remarking that it was about time for a cut, despite liking it at this length. Then Harrow would brush her hand through her disheveled fringes to feel its length and disheveledness and then brush her fingers between Gideon’s and just lay there with a stone in her chest.</p><p>Harrow admitted early on that she had thoughts of death. <i>"No shit,"</i> Gideon wanted to say to her master of death, but she knew better. Harrow expounded quickly: "Of mine, and of yours." And she said no more.</p><p>Gideon did not why Harrow said this, because she was already very well aware of this, and they both knew that. So she asked why.</p><p>"Because I worry. I agitate, I fester. I fear affection, Gideon, and losing it. My heart lays traps that I stumble into helplessly, like a fool to sanity.”</p><p>"So edgy," said Gideon with the lopsided smile that always seemed to do the trick. For the first time, it didn't. "That's just how love goes, Harrow, and I come with it. I know it hurts, and it’s hard. It’s heavy.”</p><p>“It is,” she whimpered, all the sharp features of her face tightening. </p><p>“Don’t let it smother you. Easier said than done, I know, but I'll always be right here for you, whether you want me to be or not. On my honor as your caval-"</p><p>"Don't promise. Don't swear. For the love of our Emperor Undying, please don’t. I may scream if you do. Just tell me."</p><p>Gideon took Harrow’s hands and looked at them: nails nibbled back to flat, edgeless stubs, her fingers lithe; Gideon smoothed her thumbs over Harrow’s mountainous knuckles, over her veins and bones, and then looked with earnest, evening-hued eyes at her.</p><p>"I will never leave your side."</p><p>All Gideon could do was be here for her, as was her duty, and she prayed to their God every night. It was awkward reflection, as one felt when writing a letter when they did not want to write a letter. She prayed as the nuns and their prayer beads and the Reverend Daughter’s sermon had taught her, only without the nuns and their prayer beads and the Reverend Daughter’s sermon.</p><p>Gideon repeated it to herself for the first time in her life, praying that she could be enough for Harrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I finished the second book a while ago. What a fascinating, yet devastating read. Harrowhark has very quickly become one of my favorite fictional characters, and I wanted to write something about her. Hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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